There's a certain satisfaction and relief and joy that comes with finishing a novel - one that I've written. But there's also a terrible melancholy that sinks in within a very short time. At least for me. And especially after completing Then . . . you.
To say I loved this hero/protagonist is an understatement. This particular character was a total risk to write. He's not "ordinary".
In this story, there are several intentionally vague parts of the hero's life. In retrospect I suppose some readers will find this annoying, maybe a bit "fantastical", or maybe they'll overlook whatever specific lack of information or understanding where I chose not to elaborate.
One of the reasons for being vague is because of the unique circumstance of this love story. The descriptor "He's a recluse. She's seeking refuge." ushers the reader into an immediate change of life for these two total strangers. Although the vague parts of the hero's overall character are important to the storyline, those that are revealed are the critical crux to this love story. Because above all else: it's a love story.
These are the aftermath thoughts of this author suffering from a lapse of melancholy having said farewell to these much-loved (by me) characters . . .
Father, I keep thanking you for the words, the stories, the characters, and I keep saying, "Apart from you, I can do nothing" because it's true, and I truly can't say/express it enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.